Slayer
by Falcon's-Fang
Summary: Isabella Swan was sent to Forks, Washington. Isabella discovers that she has an incredibly hard time fitting in. However, there are some people who catch her eye. The Cullens. What happens when she discovers they're vampires and her best friend is a werewolf? What happens when Isabella finds herself dragged into the battle between the werewolves and vampires? Where will she stand?
1. Chapter 1

"Izzy, you alright?"

My father's voice sliced through the haze of the pain in my head. I turned to scowl at him. To think my father had the audacity to ask if I was alright! Of course I wasn't alright. I was furious. I was being taken to the worst place in the world; the hell of all hells, the most despicable place on earth, the gloomy little town of Forks, Washington. I was being banished to live with my father for the next two years until I came of age and was cast out into the harsh, cruel world!

What a joke! I hated the town I had been condemned to. The dreary, rainy, hick town my father lived in. How could anyone stand to live in a place where the sun didn't shine more than half the time? I'm not kidding when I say this is the one place in the world where the sun doesn't exist! I have no idea why someone would want to live there. It was no wonder my mother had left my father and that forsaken town.

"Isabella?" My father, Officer Charlie Swan, asked.

"I'm fine," I snapped, glaring back out the window of the car. My father had picked me up from the airport not a hour ago and now we were heading to him house, my new home. It wasn't really my new home, not technically, I had been born there after all, but I had no care to return to it.

"Izzy, I know things are going to be hard, but we're going to have to work together to get through it. We're a team after all." I clenched my fists as he said it. When I was little he would always say to me 'we're a team'. No, no we weren't a team.

"Izzy, you have to realize you're the one who got yourself into this, you're going to have to be the one to get out of it. And you can start by taking responsibility for your actions." My father said this, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

It was mot my fault! It wasn't! It wasn't! It wasn't!

I didn't answer my father. I was too angry and my head throbbed too badly. After eight grueling weeks it hadn't gotten any better, even though they said it would.

We drove for a while in silence, Charlie focusing on driving and me focusing on trying to not throw up from the pain. We passed the "Welcome to Forks" sign tucked away on the side of the road, surrounded by tall standing trees. Of course, it was raining heavily; typical Fork's weather.

We drove on the main road for a while yet, I knew we'd turn off soon to take the old familiar road to my father's two story rambler. However, until we'd get there, I'd either have to endure the smothering silence or endure more lecturing.

"Izzy, we have to set down some ground rules," Charlie said, breaking the heavily silence. Evidently it was going to be more lectures. "I don't want you being out past ten." Great, I had a curfew being slapped on me. "Nine would be better. I want to know where you are when you're not at school and when you're not at home." Wonderful, I was going to be monitored constantly. "I don't want you going into the woods and I don't you going too far from school." I had restricted areas I could go to, thanks dad. "And absolutely no smoking, drinking, or drugs; do you understand?" Well, duh!

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I muttered under my breather.

"Isabella!" Charlie raised his voice. It terrified me when he would do that when I was a kid, but now, I glared at him.

"I get it! I won't go out, I won't do drugs! I'll be your perfect little girl!" I yelled. Okay, maybe I'd gone too far with that one, but he had it coming. I'd been over all of this with the countless social workers before I'd even boarded the plane to come to this horrid place.

"Isabella, don't talk to me that way!" Charlie didn't yell very often, but when he did, I was reminded that he was a cop.

I fumed, refusing to look at him and we turned off and pulled up into the driveway. I couldn't stand to be with my father right now, but I also was reluctant to get out of the car. I hadn't been here for four years, since I was twelve. I house was exactly as I remembered it. It was a two story rambler, off white, and in need of repairs. It wasn't all bad, though. It had a sizable yard with an old swing handing from the branch of an old oak tree in the front and the overgrown garden my mom had tried growing when she'd lived here. Because of the lack of sun and the amount of rain, however, she hadn't been able to grow anything properly and given up her endeavors.

With a sigh, Charlie cut the engine and began to get out of the car. "Welcome home."

The words hung in the air after he slammed the car door. Welcome home. This wasn't my home and it never would be, I told myself.

I got out of the car and hauled my measly, single suitcase up to the house. I followed Charlie up to the front door and watched impartially as he unlocked it. The door had a sticky lock, I remembered that much from when I was a kid.

Once inside, Charlie said, "I'll get supper ready while you get settled."

I had no desire to stay in the kitchen while he was in there, so I hurried up the stairs, taking them slowly. Charlie had never been much of one for decorating, but my mom was, after she took me and hit the road, Charlie had left things exactly the same as they were before. The wedding pictures of my parents hung on the walls of the stairs along with pictures of me as a baby. There was one that stuck out to me the most, I don't know why. It was a picture of my mom holding me as a toddler in her lap, she was grinning as I hadn't seen her grin in years. Numbingly, I shook it off and went up to my room. I remember exactly what it had looked like when my mom and I had left. My father hadn't changed a thing over the years that I'd been forced to come for court mandated visits.

When I pushed the door to my room open, I was surprised. My room was almost completely different. There was new furniture, a desk that hadn't been there before, and a laptop. The sunshine yellow curtains were the same; however, as was the age old bedspread my mother had crocheted when she was pregnant with me. I had to admit I was mildly pleased that he'd changed things.

I dumped my suitcase haphazardly one the bed. I had no care to unpack my meager possessions at the moment. I didn't want to do anything, just lie down, close my eyes, and wake up to discover it had all been a bad dream. I was starting to regret my actions, I really was.

Halfheartedly, I flopped on my bed beside my suitcase and pushed it to the side. I felt so tired and my head throbbed painfully. I closed my eyes and in mere moments I was asleep.

* * *

_Excited shouts and shrieks filled the air. Flashing strobe lights blinded my eyes. Drinks and shots were being passed all around. And I was in the thick of things. The live band played deafening, throbbing music, stoned and more than a little tipsy people swayed and jumped drunkenly about. I was having the time of my life. A drunk clutched in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and glow sticks on my wrists and ankles. _

_We had to drive way out into the deserts of Arizona to get far enough from any town where the cops could bust us. This was how a rave was supposed to be! Loud music, laughter, and drunkenly conduct. I'd had one too many to drink, big deal. I was having fun and that's all that mattered to me. I was pleasantly buzzed._

_It was well past two in the morning, I was barefoot, dancing away and relishing the feel of the cold desert sand under my feet. The day had been well over a hundred and merciless to anyone stupid enough to be careless. But this was perfect for a midnight rave! _

_My brain was slowly and fuzzy from the alcohol and pot my friends had unloaded on me. I was drunk and high, simple as that. But I had no worries, I just had to be home before six and crash in my bed and my mom would be none the wiser. Simple really when you know how it's done. _

_And then…Chaos! The music stopped in an instant, the strobe lights blinding flashes illuminating and distorting the confused and angry faces. Why had the music stopped? And then sirens! They cut through my sluggish mind like a knife. I'd heard them before when a rave had been busted and I knew instantly what had happened. There was no hesitation as I threw down my drink and tossed my cigarette over my shoulder. I ran._

_There was absolutely no questions about it, even my drunken mind knew I had no make a break for it. Staggering and stumbling across the flat desert land, I was crashed in on all sides the desperate partiers running for it. Cops were shouting and there were shrieks and swears. I made no vocalization as I found my footing and ran. Blindly I ran for the darkness, away from the cops, away from the strobes, away from the partiers. _

_I was slow and stupid, though. I had been an idiot and wasn't thinking. Many of the partiers had run for their cars, leaping into them and speeding away. Those of us who didn't make it to the cars ran in the darkness. There was no one near me. I thought I would be safe in the cover of darkness, but I was dead wrong. My glow sticks shone like beckons. _

_My feet stumbled and then I heard the shouting behind me. Panic! I tore across the dusty ground. The cops closed in and in the darkness a rock snagged my foot and sent me crashing to the ground. In an instant the cops were upon me, grabbing me and slapping cuffs on my wrists and hauling me to my feet. _

_I was dragged, struggling to the cop car, my feet cut and bleeding, and my wrists raw from the cuffs, my drunken mind all but blank with blind panic. It was all over. _

* * *

I sat bolt upright. I was shaking uncontrollably, panic stricken and sobbing. Tears ran down my cheeks, invasive and uninvited. I scrubbed my face fiercely in an attempt to banish my fears. My gut clenched and I stood shakily. I staggered across the room and across the hall to the bathroom.

I sank to the floor and wrapped my arms around my body, shaking horribly. I buried my face in my arms and curled tightly into a ball and sobbed.

It was just a dream, just a dream, I told myself, rocking back and forth in an effort to comfort myself. But it wasn't just a dream, a dark part of my mind whispered, it wasn't a dream.

When I'd regained enough composure, I rose unsteadily to my feet and gazed at my reflection. Dark, dark brown eyes stared back at me, red rimmed and bloodshot from crying. My short, brown hair was in complete disarray. My clothes rumpled. I really did look like an addict, I noted through the continued pounding of my head. Who was I kidding? I was an addict. No, that wasn't right, I was a recovering addict.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up sprawled across my bed. My suitcase was taking up a portion of my bed and had pushed me to the side. I could almost see it grinning lazily at me, sadistically satisfied that it had made me sleep in an awkward position, leaving cricks in my spine and cramps in my legs. Great, just great, now even my suitcase was mocking me. I rolled out of bed and stood up; belatedly realizing this wasn't my room back in Phoenix, Arizona.

With a groan of frustration, I buried my face in my hands. My head wasn't just pounding; it felt as though there were knives stabbing me behind the eyes. What time was it anyways? I chanced a glance at the clock. It was ten to noon! It couldn't be that late already! Now, I had no love for getting up early, but I do have standards and it was almost lunch time. God! It was just one thing after another!

I threw myself at my suitcase, tearing it apart to find something to wear. I hauled out the first thing my fingers touched and dressed with the speed of someone possessed.

I opened my bedroom door and stopped. I heard voices, Dad was talking to someone. Make that two people. I heard his voice, followed by a throaty laugh and the tenor of a young man. Confused, I crept down the stairs, straining to hear what they were staying.

"She should be up soon," Dad was saying. "She's a teenager, but I can't believe how late they sleep in these days. We never slept in that late when we were their age."

I heard the throaty laugh again, "We certainly didn't."

"What about you, Jake?" Dad asked. "Do they let you sleep in on the Reservation?"

"Certainly not," the young man laughed.

Jake? The Reservation? What? I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Dad was talking with Jake and his dad. My heart leaped into my throat, beating painfully hard. I stood frozen on the steps, my throat tight, and my hands slick with sweat. I couldn't believe.

Leaning against the wall, I took a deep breath. I hadn't realized it, but I was shaking. Taking a deep breath, I tried to still my racing heart. It was just Jake.

I forced my legs to move and climb down the last few steps. I walked into the kitchen. There they were, lounging in the kitchen like they did it every day. Jacob Black was leaning against the counter, talking to Dad. He hadn't seen me yet and I didn't want him to. He looked different from what I had imagined him to, but I wasn't complaining. I had imagined him to look either like his tired and weathered looking father or…I wasn't sure what I'd expected him to look like, but he didn't look he did the last time I'd seen him. But that was almost ten years ago when Mom and I had left.

Jake had long, waist length black hair worn down, hanging loosely about his shoulder. He pleasantly dark brown skin and eyes such a dark brown that they were almost black. He took my breath away. He looked almost nothing like his worn looking father, Mr. Black. He father's face was drawn and weather-beaten from a life of hardship. The first thing I noticed about Mr. Black, other than how tired he looked, was that he was wheelchair bound. Shock shook me. Last time I'd seen Mr. Black was the night Mom took me away. He had been tall and strong then, much like Jake was now. He still wore his black hair in the long braids I remembered him having.

"There she is," Dad said, noticing me. "Izzy, you remember the Blacks?" I nodded numbly. "They drove all the way from the Reservation."

Honestly, the Reservation wasn't far from here at all. I still left numb on the inside, like an ice cube had been slipped into my stomach.

Jake and his father turned to look at me. For a single instant they both seemed frozen, looking at me. How different I must look. Last time Jake and his father had seen me was ten years ago, Jake and I had both been six. Mr. Black was the first one to move, a smile breaking across his face.

"Look at you!" He said, wheeling his wheelchair over to me. I hugged him awkwardly. I felt terribly out of place standing in Dad's kitchen with Jake staring at me.

"How have you been?" Mr. Black asked. He must know very well how I've been, but I'm glad he didn't accuse me of anything they way everyone had so far.

"Fine," I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets. I couldn't bear to be looked at right now. I couldn't bear the look of concerned pity in Mr. Black's eyes as he looked at me. I couldn't handle the way Jake just stared at me.

"Isabella…?" Jake's voice was rough as he said my name.

"Yeah, it's me," I said uncomfortably. I was painfully aware of my baggy shirt and my cargo pants, my short hair and how wasted I must look. I looked away, finding comfort in inspecting the tiled floor.

Dad coughed awkwardly, saying, "Well…"

"Right," Mr. Black said, changing the subject. "How has school been?"

I shook my head, sitting down at the table. "I haven't been going."

There was a pause as Mr. Black exchanged a look with Dad. "You're starting school on Monday, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I said, picking at the peeling paint of the kitchen table. "I had tutoring while in… I'm still behind, though."

Mr. Black cleared his throat and nodded. "Jake's ahead in his classes, I'm sure he'd be happy to help you catch up."

I looked at Jake, tense and unused. A moment passed before he smiled easily and said, "Sure."

"We've got a lot of catching up to do," Mr. Black said, patting y hand. "But right now Jake has something to show you."

Surprised, I looked from Mr. Black to Jake. I wasn't sure where this was going at all, "Really?"

"Yeah, it's outside. Come on," Jake smiled easily, but there was something forced about it. The way he looked at me was like anyone else who knew. Pity. I hated being looked at like that. I got up and followed Jake to the door; Dad and Mr. Black followed. We went out front. It was only September, but the cold from the rain was biting. Curse Forks' weather.

In the driveway sat Dad's care and behind it an old red truck hunkered like some great beast waiting, half-asleep. Jake walked over to the truck and patted it.

"This beauty's old, but he works and will be able to get you where you need to go," Jake told me.

"Wait, is it for me?" I asked, baffled.

"I asked Jake to fix the truck up when I found out you were coming." Dad said.

"Dad, thank you," I managed. I walked over to truck, looking it over.

"Did you fix it up yourself?" I asked Jake.

"Yup," Jake said. "I repaired the engine, fixed the axels and breaks, and installed a radio, build by hand."

My voice was rough as I breathed, "Wow, Th-thanks."

"Sure," Jake replied, shrugging. "Dad and I drove it over her, but we should take it for a spin and see how you drive. You can drive, right?"

I looked indignantly at him, "Of course I can."

I'd gotten my license on my sixteenth birthday, which was before…I hadn't done any real driving yet, but I wasn't willing to tell Jake that.

"Where will you two be going?" Dad asked his gaze not on Jake but on me. He wasn't kidding when he'd told me he wanted to know where I'd be at all times.

Jake said, "I was thinking of just taking a spin around the town, maybe grab a bite to eat. Don't worry, Officer Swan, I'll keep her out of trouble."

Shame and humiliation burned though me. Jake had no right to say such a thing about keeping me out of trouble. I'd been clean for weeks! I clenched my teeth and fists. I didn't need a babysitter. I stuffed my hands angrily into my pockets and glared at Dad. Mr. Black gave me the sad, searching look he'd first given me when I walked into the kitchen. Pity; I hated it. I didn't need it and I didn't want it.

"Come on," Jake said to me, swinging around to the truck's passenger door.

"Be back by five!" Dad called after us and I climbed into the driver's seat.

I sighed irritably as soon as the doors were closed. Jake passed the car keys to me watched as I stuck them in the ignition. The sound of the truck growling to life was strangely satisfying.

"Where do you want to, Isabella?" Jake asked a little warily.

"Anywhere as long as it's not here," I told Jake tersely. "And it's just Zeal."

"Let's just drive, then," Jake said. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "Zeal?" He questioned.

"Yeah," I muttered. "I hate how Isabella sounds."

"When we were kids everyone called you Bella," Jake reminded me.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. My head throbbed painfully as a constant reminder.

"You mean Fish-Belly." I mumbled, a slight smile pulling at my lips. Of course, Fish-Belly was what everyone on the Reservation called me because of how pale I was compared to them.

Jake laughed, quickly becoming somber again, "But why Zeal?"

"Because, "I answered seriously, "When I was little it's what Mom called me. She always said I was zealous. I just caught on and stuck, I guess."

"Zeal," Jake tested it.

"To be passionate in the pursuit of something," I told him.

We drove in silence for a while. There was something on Jake's mind, though. Finally, he sighed and asked me, "Isabella, what happened to you?"

"I moved here because my mom couldn't handle me anymore," I knew what he was talking about, but I didn't want to tell him about it. I wasn't ready to talk.

"No, what happened, really?" Jake looked at me, searching my face.

"I was arrested for drinking and drugs, put through rehab, and shipped off here because my mom couldn't even bear to look at me anymore! Happy?" I spat, slamming on the breaks and glaring at him. "Now you know. Don't ask about it again."

Jake was quiet for a while before asked quietly, "There's more to it, isn't there?"

I looked away, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Zeal," Jake said, using my chosen name. "You know you talk to me about anything, right?"

"No, Jake, I can't," I told him, barely above a whisper.

Jake said nothing. The air between us grew thick and heavy. I hated the silence, but I didn't want to be the one break it either. We drove until I couldn't bear the silence any longer.

"Where do you want to eat?" I asked eventually.

"I don't have much on me, so it'll have to be McDonalds," Jake said with a slight grin.

I groaned, shooting him a glare, "Are you serious?"

Jake laughed, "Yeah, it's fast, it's cheap, and besides, we've got to size up your new classmates."

"Right." I'd forgotten Jake and I wouldn't be going to the same school. I wasn't looking forward to starting a new school. It was something I should be used to after the number of times I'd moved. I knew I wasn't going to fit in, but I could try, not that actually would.

Jake and I got out of the truck. The rain wasn't heavy, but it sent shivers down my spine. God, I missed the Arizona heat. By the time Jake and I got inside, my hair was plastered to my face and clung uncomfortably to the back of my neck. Jake pushed his wet hair out of his face as we walked up to the counter. The boy at the cash register looked like he could be in high school, likely one of my new classmates.

He looked at the two of us with a look of semi-disgust as if he couldn't believe we were getting the McDonalds' floor muddy.

"Hey," he said finally, looking me up and down.

"Hey," Jake replied. "I'll have a number three with a small fries and a coke. What do you want?" Jake asked glancing at me.

I shrugged, "Just a small fry."

The boy at the register rang it up. Jake paid with a simple, "Thank you."

A girl had been standing by the second register watching us. Once Jake had grabbed our food, she walked over, looking at me with scrutiny.

"So are you, like, a boy or a girl?" She asked. I hated the sound of her voice. It grated painfully on my nerves. She was a valley girl; the worse creature in the world.

"This," Jake said easily, and noticing my jaw clench, "is Isabella Swan, daughter of Officer Swan."

The girl looked taken aback. _Is that seriously the daughter of the Chief of Police? _The question was practically dripping from the girl. She flipped her long brown hair, looking up and down me. Oh, I hated how she was inspecting me with disbelief.

She cracked her gun before saying, "Well, I've never seen her around here before."

"That's because she just moved here," Jake answered. He clearly didn't like the tone of her voice either.

"So, like, why did you move here?" She asked, leaning over the counter.

Jake was about to answer with a quip of his own when I muttered, "Shut up and leave me alone."

I walked away while she was still gaping at me. I hadn't said anything to her thus far and I wasn't about to say anything else to her.

"Let's go, Jake. I don't want to hang around this dump any longer." My comment wasn't even meant to sting, but the way she looked at me. I felt a wave of satisfaction. Jake took me to a table in the far corner where we sat and ate in silence. For the first thing I'd eaten all day, the fries weren't what I wanted to put in my stomach.

"You know, you shouldn't have said that to your classmates," Jake ventured.

"Whatever," I muttered.

"You know, Zeal, you're going to be going to school with them for another two years," I knew Jake didn't like the type of person I'd become, but I wasn't about to try and explain to him what had happened. He didn't need to know.

"It doesn't matter," I told him sullenly, "I won't fit in anyways. It's not like it will make a difference."

"You could at least try to be a bit friendlier," Jake ventured.

I gave Jake a look that could have killed. No one told me what to do.

We sat in silence for a long while. So this was going to be how it was: sitting and not talking. Wonderful.

Jake was, again, the one to break the silence. He prompted me. "Tell me about Arizona."

I arched a brow at him. Right, Jake had never been beyond Forks and the Reservation. He'd never been to Arizona. I looked out the window.

"It's hot in Arizona," I told him. "In Phoenix there's a lot of traffic and a lot of people. It's easy to lose yourself there and not have to worry about anything. You can get away from everything there. You surrounded by desert."

I found myself talking about the desert, my school, a few of my friends, and all that there was to do in Arizona. It was completely different from Forks, Washington.

In turn, Jake told me about his time on the Reservation. He told me about how his mom died just two years after Mom and I left. He told me about his schooling and how it was worse that Forks High School and how he studied independently, also building and fixing mechanical things, mostly vehicles. He told me about his friends and bout what he did in his free time. Before I knew it, we were talking the way I hadn't talked with someone ever before. There was an ease between us, words simply came and went. We talked about things that were simple and things that were complex. We talked about our interests and about our dislikes.

Before I knew it, time had just slipped past. When I checked the time, it was almost five o'clock. Crap, I had to be back by five. The drive back to Dad's house was uneventful as we talked. However, when I pulled up into the driveway and cut the engine.

I was about to get out when Jake looked at me very seriously. "Zeal, don't get involved with the Cullens."

"Who?" I had no idea who Jake was talking about.

"There are some kids at your school. They're part of the Cullen…family. You can't trust them." The look in Jake's eyes made my blood run cold. What had the Cullens done?


	3. Chapter 3

There are few things quite as mundane as school. I rolled out of bed, feeling light my skull was about to crack open from the pain of the throbbing. I could tell that this was going to become a routine. Unfortunately, I was forbidden from taking painkillers. Not that it mattered much. I had finally gotten around to unpacking my suitcase the night before and laid out the clothes I planned on wearing for my first day of school at Forks High School.

I looked reproachfully at the alarm clock I'd just turned off. It wasn't even six thirty in the morning. I hated having to get up for something as stupid and useless as school. I saw no point in going, it's not like I learned anything useful there. School taught nothing that was useful in the real world.

I got ready sluggishly. I had little interest in what I was doing until it came to my piercings. My ears were riddled with pieces of metal. Triple piercings in both ears, a tragus in one, an industrial in the other, and a simple cartilage piercing with a delicate chain connecting it to my first lobe piercing. I relished the way my piercings looked. Even if I'd been stripped of everything in moving here, at least I still had my piercings to identify me as not being one of the idiots I was going to be attending class with.

It was past seven thirty when I finally made my way down stairs. Dad was just putting on his jacket. He was already leaving for work.

"Moring, Izzy," Dad said to me. "There's cereal in cupboard. I'll be back at five. Remember, you've got a therapy appointment this evening at six."

He couldn't be serious! I'd only been here for two days and I already had to see a therapist. It was stupid. I couldn't believe my ears.

"Oh, also, I want you to look into clubs at your school. I want you to at least try making friends. Okay?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He couldn't expect me to make friends just like that. I muttered, "Fine."

"I'll see you this evening, Izzy," Dad said before walking out the door. I heard his car start up and then drive away.

I was alone. I could just skip going to school. I knew I could, but if I did, I would be putting myself in jeopardy. The mere fact of me being here was in the balance. Frustratedly, I hate a sparse breakfast. One of the things they couldn't control about me was how and what I ate! I clenched my fists as I stormed out the door, grabbing my backpack on the way. Things were just not going my way here!

It was raining heavily this morning, something I was _not_ pleased about. I slammed the truck door and started up the engine. The drive to school filled me with even more burning resentment for everyone who had played a part in the evens that dumped me here.

I had to park on the far side of the parking lot because of the number of cars already hunkered in front of the school. People were hustling up to the doors, trying to get out of the downpour. I wasted no time in heading for the front door. I had to stop off at the office and pick up my schedule. I pushed past people filing into the school.

"Hey, nice ride," one boy called after me. He'd seen me pull up in the Red Beast. I blatantly ignored him as I fought my way through the people already crowding the halls.

The office was right by the front doors, thankfully. I opened the door and walked in. The lady at the front desk looked skeptically at me over her glasses.

"May I help you?" She asked her tone sharp.

"Isabella Swan." I told her. "I'm new."

"Ah," She said, sounding like a librarian who was shushing someone over nothing. I hated those kinds of people. She turned to rummage through the papers piled upon her desk, resurfacing with a sheet of paper. "Well, Isabella, here's your schedule." She pursed her lips as she looked at the files in a cream colored folder. "Our records don't show too well about you."

I snorted under my breath. Thanks for telling me stuff I already know.

"We'll be keeping an eye on you, Isabella. Don't toe the line here or you'll be our on your ear." She warned me.

"Thanks," I muttered. I hated being told things that were obvious.

I felt the office without a backwards glance. Looking down at my schedule, I had all core classes, not surprisingly; I had no interest in any of them.

I drifted down the halls to my first class, ignoring the pointed stares in my direction. I really hated being stared at.

"Hey, are you knew here, dyke?" A boy yelled at me. I was going to ignore him, but suddenly, my schedule was plucked from my hand. I spun to face a burly jock, looking over my schedule.

"Looks like this little dyke is junior," he jeered to his friends. "'Isabella Swan'." He read my name and grinned at me. "Where are you from, little dyke Bella."

I wasn't just angry, glaring up into his stupid face, I was furious.

"Give that back," I hissed. My head was hurting terribly and now this idiot was trying to get my goat.

His laughter boomed through the halls, drawing the attention of the other students. A small crowd was gathering around us.

"Hey, you didn't answer my question, little dyke," he said. In an instant he slapped by butt, roaring with laughter as I recoiled. I did not need this right now!

"If you must know," I hissed, glaring up at him. "I'm from Arizona and I am _not_ a lesbian."

"All girls with short hair are," he grinned stupidly. "But I can make you straight with my dick."

I blushed with furious humiliation.

"Shut up!" I hadn't even realized I had shouted or even moved until the collective gasp of the crowd rolled over me. He had staggered, off balance from the force of the blow I'd laid upon his face.

"Stay away from me," I muttered, grabbing my schedule from him. I turned my back and stormed down the hall without a backward glance. The students parted to let me pass, as though they'd never seen anything like it. So what if a petite girl like me had struck a jock more than twice as broad as me more than a head and a half taller.

I was more than grateful when I got to my first class. The teacher was standing by his desk sorting papers. He looked up surprised at the sight of me. He didn't recognize me as one of his students, obviously.

"Ah, you must be Isabella, the new student." There was something calming about him. I had never liked teachers, but he had a steady hand and a calm voice.

"Yeah," I told him.

"There's an empty desk over there," he pointed me to an empty desk in the front row by the wall.

I took my seat and had only just had time to unpack my backpack before a boy dropped down in the seat beside me. I tried to ignore him with the same hostility I did everything else.

"Hey, new girl," the boy said, grinning. "I saw you slug Marcus. That was awesome. No one's had the guts to do that before."

"Thanks," I said slowly, giving him a sidelong glance.

"Name's Mike," he said grinning. At this point students had been flowing steadily into the room. The bell rang and Mike jump up, hurrying over to his seat across the room. He grinned at me, before leaning over to say something to another boy. I had no idea what he was saying. I bristled at this. I couldn't stand people saying things about me.

"Good morning, class," the teacher said. He stood before the class, speaking in his steady, calm way. The students who had been uproarious with their nose hushed in a way I'd never seen a teacher be able to calm a class. "We have a new student and I'd like to introduce her." He nodded at me to come up front. I rose tensely, hating being in the spot light.

"Tell them a little bit about yourself," he encouraged me.

Taking a deep breath, I said, "My name's Isabella Swan. I'm from Arizona. And, yes, the Chief of Police is my Dad."

The way I said it, there was no room for argument. The students looked at me for a moment before a girl's hand shot up.

"Yes?" The teacher said.

"So, like, why did you move here from Arizona?" She was most definitely a valley girl, disgusting.

"To live with my dad." I said curtly.

"Are you, like, a lesbian?" Another girl asked.

The little snot. "Why, do you want to go out with me?" I asked sharply. I wasn't going to let these idiots walk all over me.

The girl gasped, going scarlet. Laughter erupted around the classroom. Even the teacher was trying not to chuckle. She had it coming to her, she really did.

"That's enough of that," the teacher said, the amused twinkle still in his eyes. "Now, Isabella, what do you want to be called?"

"Zeal," I answered without hesitation.

"Zeal?" he asked curiously.

I nodded curtly; I wasn't going to give him an explanation.

I took my seat, the girl sitting next to me, looking offended. She glared at me and whispered, "I can't believe you, like, said that to my best, like, friend."

"She was asking for it," I muttered back.

The girl gasped and turned pointedly away from me.

"Settle down, class," the teacher said. "Now open your books to page forty-nine."

The rest of my day went very much the same. People made jibes at me about my short hair; evidently in their minds only lesbians had short hair. The word of me punching Marcus spread like wildfire and by lunch I was looked at one of two ways: with disgust and distaste for my rudeness and attitude, or with admiration from those like Mike who thought it was cool that I had punched a bullying jock. What they had to learn, though, was that I wasn't afraid to pick fights with anyone.

At lunch, I walked into the cafeteria. It was packed with round tables. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they going to sit. I noticed immediately that it was very click-y. I was reluctant to sit anywhere. Looking around the room I noticed only one empty table in the far corner. I stood off to the side for almost five minutes before no one took the table. I gladly slipped though the crowd to sit along at the table. No one joined me, but plenty of people stared at me. Just great, I had an audience. As I had done for the past year and a half, I refused to eat lunch. It was common for me, quite honestly, to skip meals. It left me irritable and worsened the pounding in my head. For everything else I had ceded the battle field, but I wasn't willing to lose the war.

I worked silently on the homework that had been assigned. I had no desire to do it, but anything to avert my eyes from the people who kept shooting glances at me. However, I felt the burn of the steady gaze of someone. I looked up sharply, searching for the offending person.

My gaze passed across the students only briefly before I found who had the audacity to stare unabashedly at me. There was a group of people sitting at a table across the lunch room. But there was something…off about them. One of the boys stared at me with unblinking eyes. It wasn't like the disinterested stare I would give people when observing them either. This was an intense stare that raised the hair on the back of my neck and made my skin tingle with fear and dread.

Even after I met his gaze, locked, and held it, he didn't look away. I had to avert my eyes. I couldn't hold that gaze. It terrified me to the core the way nothing else had, not even the nightmares that tore me apart.

There were two girls at the table. One of them leaned over to say something to the boy, but even then he didn't look away. Instead, the others followed his gaze to look at me. I knew I drew a lot of attention, and not in a good way, but this was ridicules. In the back of my mind, I knew I had to ask Jake for a description of the Cullens, because if these were them, it would explain why they were so creepy. I don't use the word creepy lightly. I had been in many situations and knew many people to be "creepy", but this was a completely different kind of creepy.

I glared at them before returning to my English homework. Our teacher had decided to have us analyze a poem for the next day. Because I had come in almost a month late, I had no idea what I was doing. Poetry was something I felt to be a waste of time. This poem, though, was called _Wailing Molly_ it was about the ghost of a woman who murdered the man she loved after he married another. I found it compelling.

I was grateful when the bell rang and I had to hurry to my next class. My next two classes were fairly bland, but my last class of the day brought me up short. It was biology. I wasn't exactly sure what to expect when I walked into the classroom. It started out just like my other classes had with me being asked to introduce myself and tell a little bit about myself. The thing that threw me off was that the creep was in my class. He just kept staring at me.

I tried to ignore him, I really did. He made my skin crawl, though, and I couldn't just turn my attention away from him. He was sitting at the same table as me. By the time class was half way through (we were talking about the cell cycle), I couldn't bear it anymore.

I leaned across the table, glared at him, and hissed, "Stop staring at me."

"What can I say, you're a beautiful girl," he said it so easily, so simply. I froze. My heart beat painfully in my chest. No one had ever called me beautiful. I didn't believe him for a second—not with my androgynous figure and face, my baggy clothes, and short hair—but, none the less, I was stunned.

"Don't say that kind of thing," I hissed under my breath, recovering my composure.

"Edward, Isabella, be quiet," the teacher, a pinch faced woman who looked like there was always something unpleasant under her nose, said without turning from the whiteboard and continued with the lecture.

I burned with anger for the rest of the hour, clutching my pencil until my knuckles turned white and my writing was all but illegible. Edward gave me a knowing and winning smile that I hated instantly. To think he had the audacity to look at me that way. There was something about him that caught my attention though and held me entranced. Edward had golden eyes.

When the bell rang, I was the first out of my seat and out the door. I wasn't going to stick around; not while that creep was staring at me. As soon as I was out the front door and in the pouring rain, I felt eyes on the back of my neck again. I spun around, staring hard through the sheets of rain, back at the school and saw Edward with the four others. He was staring unblinkingly at me again. I suppressed a shudder and almost had to run all the way to my truck on the far side of the parking lot.

As soon as I was in the Red Beast and had slammed the truck's door, I leaned back in my seat, gasping with fright. My heart was pounding as fiercely as my head. Something was terribly wrong with this situation, I just knew it. Pulling myself back together, I turned the key in the ignition and brought the Red Beast to life. The drive back to Dad's house left me tense. The forest surrounding the house on the outskirts of town was even more threatening than the night we'd driven up to the house. I was shaking with fear, squinting through the sheets of rain. When I pulled into the driveway, I killed the engine and bounded up to the front door. I locked it behind myself. The first thing I did was turn on all the lights and scramble up to my room.

Once in my room, I dumped my backpack on the floor and flopped onto my bed. My heart wouldn't slow its frantic dance until I had lain still, listening to nothing but the pounding rain, for nearly fifteen minutes. I took a slow breath.

I had to look at this logically. What was so unnerving about this guy Edward? He stared at me nonstop. Well, maybe I was his type of girl. Unlikely. Maybe he just found me interesting because I was new. I hadn't seen anyone else like me during the day. Besides, a lot of people had been staring at me, but not so openly. Really, he was probably just trying to make me uncomfortable.

I was pulled from my thoughts quite suddenly by the ringing of my cell phone. I rolled over and grabbed it from my bag without looking at the number.

"Hello?" I asked my tone was tired and unenthusiastic.

"Hello? Isabella?" The person on the other end asked.

"Mom?" I was shocked to hear my mom's voice.

"Oh, Izzy, it is you," I hated the sickeningly sweet tone of my mom's voice. "How are you?"

"Fine." I said flatly. I knew Mom would only call for a reason and I didn't have the patients to deal with idle chitchat. "What do you want?"

"Izzy, you shouldn't talk to me that way." Mom said sharply, taking the tone she always used with me. "Anyways, I can't tell you don't want to talk, but I'm calling because Elizabeth wants to talk to you. She's been wailing ever since you left."

I sat frozen. I couldn't believe my ears. "Let me talk to her," my tone was hard and fierce, not betraying any of the desperation I felt as I clutched the phone in my hands.

"Izzy-Zeal?" The sound of a little girl's voice came from the other end of the line. I clung to the phone as if for dear life.

"El, I'm here," I told her, m y voice shaking with emotion. The tears were burning behind my eyes and blurring my vision.

"I miss you," I heard little El sniffle. The poor baby girl, she was only two and still unsure in her speech, but she tried valiantly.

"I miss you, too," I told her. How could I deny poor little El anything?

"When are you coming home?" El's voice shook and I knew she was trying very hard not to cry.

"Soon, I'll be home soon," I told her. How could I tell her I wasn't coming back?

"How are you?" I asked, working hard to control the tremor in my voice.

"I…I'm good," El spoke slowly and unsurely. I could just imagine the little brown haired toddler holding the phone in both hands and stumbling over her words as she spoke to me. "Mom…Mommy got me a new…dress."

"Did she really?" I asked, choking on my words. My anger towards Mom burned even brighter.

"Y…Yeah," El sounded so cute on her end of the phone. I could just imagine her kicking her feet as she talked to me. I bet she was wearing the white dress sandals I'd bought for her.

"I…I went to the park today," she told me slowly. "And…and I played with Emmy."

"Did you have fun?" I asked her. My heart swelled at hearing little El, but I couldn't back the tears.

"Yeah," El said, unaware of how hard it was for me to listen to her, but how I couldn't bear to hang up the phone.

"What did you play?" I asked her. I had to keep her talking. I hung on ever word she said and fought the pain of being so far from Phoenix, Arizona.

"We…we played Chase." El told me. Chase, a game like tag, but everyone chased everyone and there was no one who was specifically it.

"That's so cool," I told her. "What else did you do?"

"I…I went on the…the swings." El's favorite thing at the park was the swings.

"Awesome," I said. "Did you go high?"

"Yeah," El said. There was a moment of silence before El said. "Mommy says I have to go."

"Okay," I said thickly, choking on my words. "I love you, El."

"I love you, too," El told me. The poor little girl, all alone with Mom and her boyfriend.

"I'll see you soon," I said, though it broke my heart to lie to the little girl.

"Okay, bye-bye," El said.

"Bye," I kept my voice steady, even, and affectionate. I hung up the phone. Tears ran down my cheeks, burning my eyes. My cell phone slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. I slid from my bed and sank onto the floor. I curled tightly in on myself. My hands clutched my knees as I cried. I sobs racked my body until I had no more tears to shed. Even after my throat was raw from crying and my eyes were puffy, I stayed put.

That was how Dad found me when he walked into my room. When Dad came home, the house was silent. I heard him calling for me, but I didn't answer. He came running up the stairs looking for me. The door to my room was ajar and he pushed it open. He stopped at the sight of me curled on the floor in the fetal position.

"Izzy, what's wrong?" He asked, hurrying over to my side. Dad sat on the floor next to me, unsure of what to do.

I ignored him, curling up more tightly. I couldn't stand for him to see me like this. I was supposed to be strong and independent, not a blubbering little girl, but this was too much for me.

"Izzy, what's going on?" Dad asked, losing patience.

I shook my head before I climbed to my feet and walked over to my dresser. I picked up one of the only things I'd brought with me and carried it back over to Dad. I sat down on the floor where I had been before and handed it to him. I was a framed picture of me sitting in the park back in Arizona, holding little two year old El in my lap. It was one of the few pictures of me and the only one with me smiling. There was a genuine smile on my face. And little El, she was grinning broadly up at the camera. Dad looked started at the picture.

"She looks a lot like you," Dad said. It was odd because I looked like dad and not like mom. The only thing that I had in common with mom was her shorter height. "Who is this?"

I sat next to him, looking at the picture. "El."

"Who's El?" Dad asked looking at me, but it was a look of something dawning on him. He stared at me, his face grim. "She's not…Is she?"

I knew he could barely ask, but I nodded, "She is."

"Oh, Izzy," Dad said. "How could you?"

"I would change a lot of what happened, but not El." I said. My tone for once wasn't sharp or heated, I felt drained but El was my little girl and I had to get better for her.


	4. Chapter 4

I rode with Dad to my therapy session. I didn't want to go. I didn't want anything to do with therapy. But in this, I had no choice. The car wide was thick with silence. It was the type of pregnant silence that comes from things that have to be said, but no one knows how to say them. I didn't look at my father the entire car ride.

I slummed back in my seat as we pulled into the parking lot. They had no right to send me here. Dad looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I knew he wanted to ask me about El, but I wasn't going to tell him. I couldn't, not yet.

Walking into the building through the downpour made me feel cold and vulnerable. I felt like I was exposed to the world.

Once inside, Dad talked with the receptionist at the front desk while I glowered at the pouring sky out the window. It was strangely appropriate the way the sky cried as if with the rage I felt.

The sound of the office door by the receptionist's desk forced me to turn. A young woman with brown hair pulled back to reveal her pretty face was standing looking at me. She had a pleasant smile and warm brown eyes.

"Isabella?" She asked.

A gave no response to her question. I didn't have the energy to respond. I felt drained and exposed. The best thing to do was just not to answer. Dad, however, was more than willing to talk to her.

\"Yes, this is Isabella," he told her.

"Hello, Isabella, Mr. Swan," she said. "I'm Dr. Ester. Please, come in."

Dr. Ester led us into her office. It was spacious with a broad, dark wood desk, fake plants, as well as some real ones. There was a couch and three chairs positioned around a glass coffee table. There were large windows with the curtains drawn mostly closed against the dark, dreary weather. Dr. Ester took a seat in one of the chairs. She held a notepad in her lap and gestured for us to sit down. I sat on the edge of the couch while Dad sat in one of the chairs.

"How are you?" Dr. Ester asked. Starting with formalities, I hated with already.

I shrugged, looking at the curtains rather than at Dr. Ester.

"As you might have been informed, Dr. Ester," Dad began. "Isabella has some extenuating circumstances and is supposed to go through therapy for it."

Dr. Ester nodded, "I wasn't told very much."

"Well, Isabella," Dad's face became drawn with anger, frustration, and what I could only begin to imagine was an unnamable amount of shame. "She was arrested for drug usage and drinking as well as a number of small felonies. She spent a time in the joint and was sent to rehab for eight weeks. When she got out, she came to live with me."

My blood boiled at what my father was saying. He had no right to be talking about what I had done and gone through. He had no idea what he was talking about! My fists clenched in my lap and my jaw tightened. Dr. Ester must have noticed.

She nodded and said, "I'd like to hear it from Isabella directly. Would you mind waiting in the lobby, Mr. Swan?"

Dad looked like he wanted to argue but consented and let the room. Once the door closed with a click, Dr. Ester turned to me.

"Isabella, I want to take things at your pace," Dr. Ester said earnestly. "But I think it's important to know what happened, from the beginning."

I sat rigid, glaring at Dr. Ester. I hadn't told anyone what had happened, not all of it and I sure as hell didn't want to tell a woman I'd just met.

After a time of me glaring, Dr. Ester sighed and said, "Let's at least start with making a tree of your family. Tell me a little bit about them, alright?"

I nodded. "There's my dad Charlie," I said and Dr. Ester drew a circle, writing Dad's name in it. "He's nice enough. He doesn't know shit about me though." My voice was filled with acidity as I spat the words out.

"And why's that?" Dr. Ester asked me.

"Because I haven't seen him in four years. He doesn't know anything about what I've been though. He wasn't there for years and suddenly I have to live with him." There were burning tears in my eyes as I said this.

"It sounds like you have a buildup of resentment towards him," Dr. Ester said smoothly. She took a couple of notes and waited for me to continue.

"Then there's my mom, Renee." My tone was hard as I brought up thoughts of my mother. "She's immature, a coward, stupid, and can't handle the slightest thing. She's beyond scatter brained. She was never there for me. Everything had to be about her when I was growing up. It was always what she wanted." My voice shook and my nails cut into my palms. The tears were running down my cheeks now, but I felt like I was cracking. It was as though a dam was about to break.

"My mom took me with her when she ran away when I was six. She didn't care at all about Dad or about me. She wanted to do things her way. She was sick of marriage and of living here. She ran away like the coward she is. She packed up in the middle of the night when Dad had been on patrol and didn't even leave him a note. After that, we moved around a lot. We went to Arizona where it was moving from one trailer park to the next. Eventually, when I was ten, we moved into an apartment in Phoenix.

"Mom was bringing a different man home every night. She was out of work and on welfare. When she did have a job, it was only for a few weeks at a time. She would spend her money on who knows what. There was almost never food on the table. I was always changing schools because we were always moving. We never spent more than a few months in one place." I was angry. No, I was furious. My anger burned bright and it burned fierce. I hated the very thought of my mother.

"Every summer after Mom ran away, the put me on a plane and sent me down here for two months. And then I turned twelve. Mom and I had been settled in the apartment for two years and she had a boyfriend. She and Dad had gotten a divorce, but she decided to stop sending me down in the summer. Her boyfriend had moved in with us after we moved into the apartment. He did…horrible things to me." My voice became raw and I belt double. The memories were rushing up fast.

My mother had worked a night job and left me in his care until she'd come home at about four o'clock in the morning. By then I would be long asleep and her boyfriend would be waiting up for her, watching TV.

"He was a heavy drinker. There was a lot of fighting. He would hit her when she did something he didn't like. But he would also…" My throat clenched, the rough sobs racked my body.

Dr. Ester got up. She sat lightly beside me and pulled me into a hug, saying, "It's all right."

"He…He would hit me and…touch me." I wanted to banish the memories. I wanted them to disappear. "Then, one night when Mom was at work, when I was thirteen, he forced me to do things, to touch him, and he…" I knew the words, I knew them, but I didn't want to say them. They had to be said. They just had to. "He raped me."

The words were out in the open air. He had been brought to justice in court two years ago for the rape of a fourteen year old girl. In the trial what he had done to me had come out. He'd been charged for two accounts of rape and locked away for ten years.

Dr. Ester sat next to me. She scribbled something down in her notes and asked me to continue.

"I…I got pregnant." My voice shook terribly as I said it. But out of everything that had happened, I would never have changed this. "I carried and gave birth to my mom's boyfriend's baby. Mom thought I had gotten pregnant from sleeping around and told me to terminate the pregnancy, but I just couldn't." Sobs racked my body as I remembered what had happened.

"I had Elizabeth Marie Swan on April fourth two and a half years ago when I was fourteen." I took a shuddering breath and sat up straighter. "Mom entered a lawsuit for custody of El and she won." I was so angry, so upset I could barely speak. "I ran away."

"I stole Mom's money and I ran away. I became a stoner as soon as I was on the streets. I had to do…terrible things to get money. I started drinking not long after. I was picked up by police for the first time after less than a month. I was put in rehab and then released into Mom's custody. I ran away again and was back in rehab in another two months. Mom was furious. She threatened to take El away and have her put up for adoption. I didn't run away again."

"I went to school irregularly, but I was at every party. I was arrested for real nine months ago. I was prison for five months and rehab where I couldn't leave for four. When I was released Mom was hysterical. She refused to take me back so she sent me down here." My voice was hard, cold, and overflowing with the hatred for my mother that I couldn't put into words.

"It turned out she had a new boyfriend and she didn't want a juvenile delinquent living with her and messing up her perfect life. She's pregnant with the brat of her boyfriend and wants to raise this kid with my daughter." I clenched my fists, baring my teeth with anger. I hated that woman to the core of my being. She took my daughter from me.

Dr. Ester looked at me, her eyes were full of fire as she said, "I'm going to help you work through this, Isabella. I promise."

The hour of my therapy session had run out. I hadn't told Dr. Ester everything, but it was more than I had told anyone else.

"I'll see you next week, Isabella," Dr. Ester said to me, as I was leaving.

"Thanks," I told her quietly. I'd had enough time to recover from crying, but I felt exhausted and empty.

The drive back home was quiet. Thoughts were welling through my mind about what had happened. I was here for a new start, maybe it was time I take advantage of that and start fresh. I could try to make new friends and maybe, just maybe if I did well enough to get into a good college, I'd be able to win custody of El when I was out of school.

Coming here wasn't the end, I realized, it was a beginning.


	5. Chapter 5

"Yeah?" I was working on my laptop when my cell phone rang. I answered it, working away on the paper I had due on Monday.

"Hey, Zeal." It was Jake.

"What's up?" I really had to get back to work; I was having trouble writing my essay on Native American folk tales.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come over and hang out." There was something in Jake's tone, I wasn't sure what it was, but he sounded distracted.

"Jake is everything okay?" I asked, concern prickling in the back of mind.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I was just wondering if you wanted to come over." Jake sounded nonchalant. I wasn't sure though, I hadn't been to the reservation in the two months I'd been here.

"Sure," I was a little nervous going to the reservation. I hadn't been there since I was six. "Do you want me to drive out there right now?"

"No, I'll come pick you up." Jake sounded a little tense at the fact that I said I was willing to drive out there.

"'Kay," I said. "Dad's not here right now, so I'll give him a call and tell him where I'm going. The front door's unlocked. You can just walk in when you get here."

"Okay, see you soon," Jake said, hanging up.

I set my phone down, giving it a skeptical look. That was odd. It really was. _Jake what's going on? _I wondered. I picked my phone up again; almost as soon as I'd put it down. I dialed Dad's cell phone number. I knew he was at work and was unlikely to answer, but I could at least leave him a message. The phone rang though to voicemail.

"Hey, Dad, Jake's picking me up and we're going to be going to the reservation. I'll be back before ten." I hung up and checked the clock. It was three o'clock now and I guessed Jake would be here in about half an hour. I was lounging in my cargo pants and a baggy t-shirt. I had little desire to go to Jake's dressed like the laundry basket had been dumped over my head. I set down my essay and made an effort to find something acceptable to put on. I chose a pair of nondescript jeans and loose fitting shirt.

I had made an effort in the last two months to turn things around. It was hard, but I was holding my own. My grades were above passing. I wasn't friendly, but I was civil at school. And I was even making an effort not to dress poorly. My biggest accomplishment, thought, was the progress I'd made in my therapy with Dr. Ester. The throbbing in my head had cleared and left me thinking clearly.

I was sitting, staring non-comprehendingly at the computer screen when I heard the front door open and close. My muscles tensed and I turned in my chair. I made no sound, but listened intently.

"Zeal?" I heard Jake call from downstairs. I let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm in my room," I called down to him. Jake came up to my room, I heard him stop outside my door, which was ajar.

"You know, it's okay to come in," I told him, not looking up from the computer. "I'm not going to kill you for walking into my room."

I heard my door pushed open and I looked up to see Jake looking around my room.

"Not what you expected?" I asked a bit cheekily as I noticed him look at the sunshine yellow curtains and the dark brown furniture. I hadn't done much with my room since moving in. Though, I had set my things up and progressively spread my stuff out as I settled in.

"Not really," Jake said grinning. He walked over to me, looking over my shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Writing an essay," I told him.

"It's not going very well, is it?" He asked.

"No," I admitted reluctantly.

Jake gave me a sympathetic look before he said, "Why don't you take a break, we should get going."

"Fine," I said. I needed a break from the essay anyways. I couldn't think of anything for it anyways. I had just been staring at the blank word document on my computer, hoping the essay would just write itself.

"Does your dad know where you're going?" Jake asked as we walked downstairs.

"I called him, but he didn't answer as I left him a voicemail." I told Jake.

Jake nodded as we left the house. I locked up and we made our way over to Jake's car. It was beat up and looked as though it were on its last legs. However, Jake had gutted the car and rebuilt it. We drove to the Reservation, talking about nothing in particular.

It was raining lightly and bitterly cold out. This was one thing I hadn't missed when I had moved to Arizona. At least in Arizona it hadn't been cold and rainy every day.

It was strange for me to be sitting in the passenger seat with Jake driving. Whenever Jake came over and we went out, I was the one driving. Now, sitting in the passenger seat, I actually had a chance to look at things. The drive to the Reservation wasn't terribly long, it was just strange. I hadn't been there since before Mom and I had left.

Eventually, we pulled up in front of a ramshackle little house. The yard was filled with bit and pieces of metal from things Jake had taken apart to work on. The dirt driveway led up to a garage. Jake parked the car outside the garage and looked at me. He seemed a bit uneasy as if he was expecting me to say something.

"It not much, but its home," Jake told me.

After everything I'd seen and where I'd lived, this place wasn't bad at all. It was a million times better than the trailer parks I'd spent my childhood in, but even in the trailer parks, there was fun to be had. I remembered darting between the trailers with a handful of other kids who lived in the trailer parks. Most of us hadn't been able to afford new clothes or shoes, so we would run around barefoot in our worn-out clothes. We would play with anything we could find. That meant playing with anything from empty beer bottle old truck tires. Jake's home wasn't perfect, but I had no problems with it.

"Its way better than what I grew up in," I told Jake. Jake didn't know the extent of what had happened in the last ten years, but I had told him about growing up in trailer parks.

"My latest project is in here," Jake told me with a grin.

I followed Jake skeptically into the garage. I was surprised by the clutter in the garage. There was scrap metal and tools all over the place along with piles of wood. In the center of the garage stood two motorcycles; one of them was almost done, the other was only a frame with wheels. Jake walked over to them and looked them over.

"I've been working on building them from scrap," Jake told me. "I wanted to know if you wanted to help me work on them."

To be honest, I was surprised. I'd never build anything, let alone a motorcycle from scrap. We spent the brunt of the afternoon working in the garage on the bikes, talking mostly about school. It was when I told Jake about my essay that he suggested we take a break from the motorcycles and go for a walk.

My essay was on Native American folk tales. I don't know why I hadn't thought of asking Jake for help earlier.

Jake and I got in his car and drove to the beach not too far away. It was still rainy and cold; the waves were steely grey beneath the low rolling clouds. The shore was covered in rocks where we walked and could be treacherous. As we walked, Jake began telling me a folk tale from his tribe.

"Long ago, when the whites were first expanding to the west coast and my tribe roamed free across these lands," Jake began. "My people had their first contact with the white pioneers. It was late fall, much like it is now. It was late in the evening and the hunters were long overdue. The hunt wasn't supposed to be taking as long as it was. The tribesmen were beginning to worry about what had become of the hunters when all of a sudden there, out of the shadows, came a hunter. He was gravely wounded. He staggered into the clearing and collapsed.

"The shaman took him to be healed and to tell them what had happened. But when the shaman looked at the wound, he was shocked. This was no ordinary wound. It was a wound on the neck. The warrior's neck had been punctured as if by two small bug bites, but there was almost no blood in him.

"He looked up at the shaman with fear in his eyes. The shaman tried to get him to tell of what had happened and where the other hunters were, but all the hunter would say was 'They are gone, they are gone. Beware, beware of the ones pale as bone.' He died just moments later.

"Greatly disturbed, the shaman began to pray to the spirits for guidance. It happened again when a hunting party was sent out and then again, one more time, before the shaman forbid the hunters from going beyond the camp. There was little food and the fear was infectious. No one was allowed to leave the camp and they could not go far without being attacked. No one had been able to live long enough after the attacks to tell the shaman what they were being attack by other than that they were pale as bone.

"Whatever was attacking would not come near the firelight or large groups. So the shaman chose to warriors to accompany him into the forest. He prayed to the spirit of the wolf to protect him and his village. He took nothing with him but the two warriors.

"Out into the darkness he and the warriors ventured. Almost as soon as they had left the safety of the camp and the light of the fires, the shaman felt as though he were being watched. Out of the darkness leaped two figures. They were much like the shaman and his warriors, but they were dressed in the clothes of white settlers. They were pale as bone, just as the shaman had been told.

"They stood still for a full moment before the pale figures leaped. The warriors had no time to react. One of the figures bit into the neck of a warrior. The shaman did not see what happened to him next because the other being leaped at him, but the second warrior lunged forwards, throwing himself before the shaman to protect him. The second warrior was thrown aside like he was nothing but a bundle of sticks. His spear snapped and his hunting knife was sent flying.

"The second being leaped upon the shaman and was about to do away with him when the shaman did the only thing he could. He grabbed the broken butt of the spear and stabbed it into the being. He took up the hunting knife and in desperation, sliced the head of the being clean off its shoulders.

"The first pale being turned from the warrior whom she had attacked and saw her mate had been killed. She gave a blood curdling shriek and lunged for the shaman. The second warrior, who had thrown himself before the shaman to protect him, ran to protect the shaman once more.

"The shaman cried out to the spirit of the wolf for protection. The spirit of the wolf appeared and threw itself into the remaining warrior and changed him. The warrior became like a wolf. He stood on two legs like a man, but he was covered in fur and his hands were great claws, his face was that of a great wolf. He leaped to protect the shaman and fought the pale woman away from the shaman. In the meantime the shaman grabbed the broken spear butt from the felled pale one and took up the warrior's knife.

"The shaman saw the warrior was holding his own against the pale woman, but he was badly wounded. The shaman in desperation to protect the warrior threw the broken spear butt into the pale woman's heart and ran forward. He cut off her head as he had done her mate.

"He had slain the two pale ones, but for good measure, he burned them where they lay. When there was nothing left. He gathered up the ashes in a rabbit skin pouch and went to the wolf-warrior. The warrior looked at him with eyes of a wolf. He turned as if to attack the shaman, but stopped. He let out a mighty howl and fled into the night. The shaman took the dead warrior back to the village. He told the village of what had happened and he looked upon the wound on the warrior's neck. It was two small puncture marks, but there was no blood left in his body.

"Under the light of the full moon, the shaman prayed to the wolf spirit, thanking in for the protection it had given him, but he asked for the wolf-warrior to be returned to the village. After dawn, the wolf-warrior returned. He looked as he had before, but he was a changed man. The shaman thanked him for saving his life, but the warrior said he had little control over his form. He swore to protect the village from any more pale beings who would return.

"However, for the rest of his life, under the light of the full moon, he took on his form of the wolf-warrior and if anyone ventured beyond the safety of the firelight, they were in danger of him mistaking them as the pale beings.

"One full moon his accidently attacked and bit another one of the warriors and that warrior too became a wolf-warrior. They were respected and feared by all the villagers. The wolf spirit told the shaman that the price the tribe would pay for the wolf spirits protection was each full moon those with the blood of the wolf would take on a form like that of the first wolf-warrior and they would have little control over themselves when in that form.

"The shaman accepted this with thanks. The wolf-warriors were revered by the tribesmen and the wolf spirit the most honored the spirits. To this day the wolf-warriors will still take form, especially if the pale beings return. The shaman called these beings Cold Ones because they were pale as bone and their hearts were cold as ice."

When Jake was done talking, we stood in silence for a while. I looked at him curiously and said, "The folk tale is of vampires and werewolves."

"Yeah," Jake nodded.

"Do you believe in them?" I asked. I wasn't sure why I was so wary about asking, but I found myself very nervous suddenly. The dark grey sky, the rain, and the steely waves became great and threatening.

"I don't know," Jake said. "I've been told that story all my life. But I don't know if I should believe it or not."

I didn't know what to think either.

"Thanks," I told Jake.

"For what?" He asked.

"For giving me a folk story to write my essay on," I said.

"Just don't specify that it's from my tribe," Jake warned me, giving me an imploring look.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I'm not supposed to tell people outside my tribe," Jake admitted.

"Alright, I won't say a word about which tribe it's from," I promised.

"Thanks," Jake said to me, looking relieved. A moment later, though, Jake looked very serious again. "Don't trust the Cullens."

I was surprised he brought this up so suddenly. I was about to ask him when my cell phone began to ring.

"Hello?" I answered it.

"Izzy?" It was Dad, he sounded panicked.

"Dad what's wrong?" I asked. My nervousness from Jake's story suddenly blossomed into roiling fear.

"Izzy, where are you?" Dad asked, ignoring my question.

"I'm with Jake, we're on the Reservation." I told Dad. "I left you a voicemail message."

"Izzy, I want you and Jake to go back to his house and stay there. I'll be there to pick you up as soon as I can." Dad sounded panicked, but controlled. He was a cop and could control his emotions.

"Okay, Dad. But why?" I asked. I would do as he said, but what was going on? What was wrong?

"There's been a murder. I want you to go to Jake's and stay there." Dad told me. "Promise me."

"Okay, I promise," I said. My head was spinning. A murder. In Forks, Washington. I couldn't believe my ears. Who had been murdered and why?


	6. Chapter 6

I sat at the tiny, rickety kitchen table in Jake's house. A mug of hot herbal tea clutched in my hands. All other thoughts had been driven from my mind. Who was murdered and why? Forks was a boring place to live, but murder wasn't what I had in mind when I wanted something interesting to happen.

Jake sat across the table from me, looking out the window at the heavy rain. We hadn't talked the ride back. I told Mr. Black about what happened. He'd become pensive and sat silently, absorbed in his own thoughts.

It seemed odd, I mused, that right after Jake had told me the story of the vampires and werewolves that my dad had called about a murder. It was just a coincidence, but something prickled in the back of my mind. I wasn't a superstitious person, nor did I believe in the super natural, but sometimes there are things that can't be explain.

I was caught up in my thoughts when I heard the phone ring. Mr. Black answered the phone. He spoke in a language I didn't understand, but Jake tuned in immediately. I looked curiously at Jake, but he didn't look at me. Whatever Mr. Black was saying, it had to be important because of how intently Jake was listening.

While Mr. Black was talking on the phone, he glanced at me, his dark eyes unreadable. My blood ran cold at the look dark look in Mr. Black's eyes. He was talking about me, I just knew it! What could he possibly have to say that couldn't be said in front of me unless it was about me? I had no idea what he was saying, but I felt my face grow hot with frustration. I hated people talking behind my back, but even more than that, I hated people talking about me like I wasn't even there.

I wanted to stand up and storm out of the room, but there was nowhere for me to go; besides, Dad had told me to stay put until he could come and get me. I sat uncomfortably in silence when my cell phone suddenly rang. I glanced down at the Caller ID. It was Dad.

I flipped my phone open and said in a low voice, "Yes?"

"Izzy?" Dad said. He sounded worried and tired, as if he were under a great strain.

"What is it, Dad?" I asked. I couldn't keep the tension out of my voice. I had to know what was going on, but something told me Dad wasn't going to tell me.

"Izzy," Dad said, cutting to the chase. "I need you stay at Jake's tonight."

"What?" I couldn't stop myself from sputtering. "Why?"

Mr. Black had gone silent on his phone call. He was looking at me with the same dark look he had been before. He said something in his and Jake's language and didn't say anymore, but he didn't hang up. Jake was looking worriedly at me.

"Izzy," Dad said tiredly, he was trying to reason with me. "There's…a lot that has to be cleaned up. I won't be able to come home tonight and I don't want you home alone, okay?"

I sat in silence. I didn't say anything for a moment. What could I say? I didn't know why, but staying here tonight seemed like a bad idea, but what could I do.

I licked my suddenly dry lips and said, "Maybe you should talk to Mr. Black."

I looked at Mr. Black, he was looking at me hard, as though he were trying to hear Dad's end of the conversation. I stood up and carried my phone over to him. I handed my phone to Mr. Black. He set down the home phone he had been talking on. He looked at me with the unnerving look he'd given me before and answered my phone.

"Hello?" Mr. Black said. His tone was unreadable to me and I looked back at Jake. The look Jake gave me back was also unreadable. I felt my blood run cold. What was going on?

"Sure, that's fine." Mr. Black said after a moment. He remained expressionless as he talked to Dad. "I'll have Jake drop her off tomorrow morning." There was another moment before Mr. Black said, "Sure, bye."

He handed the phone back to me and gave me a searching look. He started talking on the home phone again in the language I couldn't understand. I looked down at my phone, noticing the call had ended.

My gut churned as I pocketed my phone and sat back down at the kitchen table. There was nothing for me to do, nothing for me to say as Mr. Black continued his conversation on the phone. It sounded more like an argument the more I listened.

Finally, Mr. Black settled whatever he'd been talking about and hung up. He looked intensely before turning his attention to Jake.

"Jacob," he said seriously. "There's been a change of plans."

Jake tensed and asked, "What?"

"With the recent events, we're bumping our plans up to tonight."

"What?" Jake sounded genuinely shocked. I felt a chill run down my spine. Whatever was going on had Jake distressed and made me feel sick with fear.

"Jake, we have to," Mr. Black said severely. "You told her didn't you?" With the last statement, Mr. Black gestured to me.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. My hands clutched the back of my chair. My knuckles were white with the tension and my voice was hard and cold with it. "Jake, what is going on?"

Mr. Black looked at me as though he were sizing me up.

"I only told her a little," Jake said. He looked desperately at his father.

"That's what I thought," Mr. Black said, his face devoid of expression. "As soon as I heard you were inviting her over, I knew you were going to tell her."

"Tell me what?" I finally snapped. I wasn't going to be ignored any longer.

Mr. Black regarded me for a moment before he asked me, "What did Jacob and you talk about today?"

I stiffened, taken aback. Jake and I had talked about a lot of things, but I knew what he was referring to. Jake wasn't supposed to tell me about the Folk Tale, but what did that have to do with anything. It was just a story, it wasn't real.

I glanced at Jake for support, but his head was bowed and his long black hair hid his face. I took a slow breath. "He told me your tribe's story about vampires and werewolves."

"A story," Mr. Black said slowly. "Is that all it is to you?"

"Of course," I shot back. "It's just a story. There's nothing of substance to it."

"No, it's not," Mr. Black said. I could see the anger burning across his face. "It's history."

"That's insane," I scoffed. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was just a story, nothing more.

"No," Jake said. He startled me into turning to look at him. His head remained bowed, his fists clenched in his lap. "It's true."

I was taken aback. How could Jake believe a child's tale? It was madness that anyone could believe such a story.

"I told it to you because I wanted you to know what was happening," Jake said quietly. I was shocked out of my anger, the cold fear curled in my gut and I felt a wave a dread wash over me.

"Jake, what do you mean?" I asked warily. I felt the fear as I hadn't felt fear over something so absurd in all my life.

"It is our tribe's customs for young men to be selected to be transformed into wolf-warriors and Jake was chosen." Mr. Black spoke. His voice was emotionless, but as I looked at him with shock, I saw the faintest traces of fear and sadness in his expression.

"You mean, Jake's going to be turned into a werewolf?" I asked slowly. I was dumbfounded. I couldn't believe my ears.

"Yes," Mr. Black said seriously. "He was supposed to be transformed next month, but with the murder today, it's been decided that he is to be transformed tonight."

The way Mr. Black said it, as though he were talking about taking a driver's test sooner than planned. I looked from Mr. Black to Jake and back again.

"Why?" I asked. In the height of everything, I found myself slipping past the ridiculousness of vampires and werewolves and wondering why it was being bumped up.

"Because the murder today was no ordinary murder," Mr. Black said. He looked at me, seeing the anger sliding from my features and being replaced with guarded curiousness. "It was a vampire feeding."

I looked back at Jake, "You were going to be transformed in a month, but because vampires have showed up, they need you now."

"Very clever, girl," Mr. Black said. "But vampires aren't just showing up, they've been here for a long time."

"The Cullens," I breathed. Everything was falling into place. 'You warned me of the Cullens because they're vampires. They killed someone and now you're needed."

Mr. Black nodded approvingly. "You're quick when you're not caught up in your anger and disbelief."

I felt myself blush, but it faded as I questioned, "It the Cullens have been here for a long time, why haven't there been other murders?"

"Clever and quick," Mr. Black said approvingly. "Because they've found a way to limit the number of people they have to feed on," Mr. Black answered darkly. "They feed on the blood of animals to sate themselves until they absolutely have to feed on human blood."

There was a long moment of silence as I mulled over what I had been told. Jake's head was still bowed and he clenched his fists. Mr. Black was looking at me with that unreadable expression again.

"How did you know Jake was going to tell me?" I asked. I wasn't sure I actually wanted to know the answer, but I felt the burn that I had to.

"Because I forbade him from seeing you again," Mr. Black said.

"What?" I asked my gut clenching. "Why?"

"Because we couldn't have an outsider getting in our way," Mr. Black said.

"I know now, though," I said cautiously. "What's going to happen?"

Mr. Black nodded at me. "We've reworked our plans to encompass you."

"What?!" Jake cried, his head snapping up. "You can't!"

Mr. Black looked impartially at Jake as he said, "We won't turn her into a werewolf, it goes completely against customs, but we can use her."

"What are you going to do with me?" I asked severely.

"That, you'll learn after the ceremony tonight." Mr. Black said. He looked at the window at the quickly gathering darkness. The rain had eased up and seemed as though it would stop raining soon.

"It's time to go," Mr. Black said. He turned his wheelchair and wheeled to the front door. Jake stood reluctantly and looked regretfully at me.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this," Jake said quietly.

I shook my head and breathed. "It's okay."

Jake, Mr. Black, and I ventured out into the darkness. We didn't head for the car as I'd expected, though. We turned almost immediately and headed though the darkness towards the towering trees of the forest. We travelled in silence for a long while. I felt the bite of the cold and shivered. Jake glanced at me and I noticed he'd pulled his jacket more securely around himself.

"You'll want to stick close to us," Mr. Black said. "The others will be upset when they discover we're bringing you with us."

We travelled until my legs ached from stumbling through the damp darkness. The clouds had parted and the full moon shone its cold silver rays down on the forest. We went on and on until before us, between the trees, a red light danced and flickered. Fire. A fire danced somewhere beyond us, among the trees.

We came to where the trees stood tall in a great ring around a clearing. In the clearing many people were gathered around a huge bonfire. The people were all dressed in everyday clothes, but there was something haunting about the fire and the shadowy figures gathered around it. They turned to look at us and stopped immediately at the sight of me.

"What are doing, bringing an outsider?" Someone cried. Other voices joined theirs in protest and I felt fear wash over me, I recoiled from them. They couldn't so much see that I was afraid as they could sense it.

"Be still and be calm," Mr. Black breathed. "They will be less likely to do anything if they show them no fear."

In my time, I had learned to disguise my emotions, but now I would need that ability more than ever. Jake looked imploringly at me and I nodded ever so slightly. I took a slow breath, stilling my wildly beating heart. I drew myself up and allowed a cloak to fall across my emotions. A mask of indifference and displeasure I used to ward people away came to my aid. I held my gaze firmly ahead of myself as I entered the clearing with Jake and Mr. Black.

"She will play her own part in our war." Mr. Black said. His tone was strong and calm, though laced with a warning.

"It will be discussed later," a powerful voice rippled from the shadows on the far side of the bonfire. I tried to see the figure across the fire, but he stood mostly in shadow. He was tall and his shoulders were broad, though. Everything about him spoke of power. He must be the chief of the tribe, I realized.

"We are gathered here tonight, under the light of the full moon to pass on the Wolf Spirit's blessing to another warrior of our tribe," the Chief began. He spoke strongly as he stepped forwards. Though I couldn't see his features, I knew they were set in fierce determination. "Our war with the Cold Ones continues as it has for centuries. We have held our grounds, but there is always need or more warriors to carry the Wolf Spirit's gift. It is my honor to pass this blessing to our newest warrior. He has shown his courage and his determination in his choice. Though he is still you and his judgment clouded by his personal feelings, he will learn in time. Jacob Black, come forward."

Jake moved from my side where he stood and took his place before the chief. He knelt, his head bowed.

"Jacob Black, do you accept your sworn oath to fight the Cold Ones and defend the humans who cannot defend themselves again the threat they cannot combat, even at the cost of your life?" The Chief asked.

"Yes," I heard Jake's voice, though it was barely above a whisper.

"Then by the power invested in me as the Chief and Shaman of our tribe by the Wolf Spirit, I pass this blessing onto you," the Chief's voice rang out. He shifted and twisted under the light of the full moon; his muscles and body twisting, rippling. His head grew, elongating and broadening, his powerful shoulders rippled out with the sound of cracking bone and his hands became life great claws. Fur spouted across his body and a tail lashed the air. He threw his head back and let out a blood curdling howl. My blood ran cold and I wanted to cry out, but something kept me rooted to the spot, still and silent as a statue.

The Chief leaned forward and sank his teeth into Jake's shoulder. Jake cried out in pain and pitched forwards, tearing his shoulder free from the Chief's jaws. Blood ran black against his skin bleached by the moonlight. Jake shuddered and his body began to undergo the same changes as the Chief's. I will never forget Jake's scream of pain as he twisted and collapsed onto the ground. His scream turned into a howl as he pushed himself up on all four. He turned and spun, snarling and growling. The gathered tribesmen backed slowly away from him.

I didn't know if it was normal or not, but Jake was acting like a wounded beast, snapping at anything that moved. He leaped suddenly and charged around the fire, racing for the darkness. He pounded across the clearing, people withdrew swiftly into the shadows, but I found myself unable to pull myself back in time. Jake saw me and lunged for me.

I glared up at him, refusing to back away. He lunged, slamming into the ground before me. He glared down at me, jaws gaping and dripping. His breath fouled the air as he snarled down at me.

"Isabella!" I heard Mr. Black yell my name, but I didn't back away from Jake. My fear was burned away in his presence by the flame that burned in me.

I glared challengingly up at Jake without moving or making a sound. Jake snarled back at me after a full moment of silence and as suddenly as he'd lunged away from me, he tore off into the forest.

I stood in a stunned silence as sound began returning to the clearing. People were coming out of the shadows again, murmuring to one another and looking at me in wonderment. My heart beat painfully in my chest, racing quite suddenly. I grasped at my chest, my breath coming in sudden gasps. I had no idea what had come over me. People were looking at me with shock and fear. Why?

The Chief stood where he had bitten Jake; he reverted slowly to his true form. I couldn't see his face, but I knew he took was looking at me.

"There is another ceremony to be held tonight," the Chief spoke; his voice strong, but thoughtful. "Come forward, Isabella Swan."

I felt my feet moving against my will. I cross the clearing and walked around the bonfire, my mind blank, yet racing at the same time. I stopped before the Chief and looked up at him for the first time. His face was cast in shadow, but I saw the strong features to match his powerful build. His expression was calm, but his eyes were on fire.

"Today Jacob Black did something against our customs. He revealed to this outsider our tribe's sacred blessing. It is a crime punishable by death, but tonight, this outsider had shown her courage and her strength. I have been informed by Jacob's father that she is keen and clever and will serve our purpose well."

The chief paused, looking down at me. When he spoke next, it was more directed at me than anyone else. "Our tribe cannot hunt the Cold Ones beyond our borders without cause. Due to the recent murder of a person from Forks, Washington, we know that we needed someone to be our hunter beyond our borders, but the question was who."

The Chief spoke strongly, looking at his people gathered around the fine. "This outsider has had ties to our tribe all her life and has proven herself tonight that she can keep her head and not succumb to fear. It would go against our customs to make her one of our warriors, but she can be made an honorary warrior. As it was once our custom, if you agree, I will make you a Slayer of the Cold Ones. You will have to serve us and swear yourself to our cause, even at the cost of your life. Think carefully before you choose."

"I accept." I said it almost without thinking, but I knew what I had to do. I don't know what made me choose to accept, but knew to the core of my being that this was what I had to do.

The Chief looked surprised at how quickly I answered.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," I answered fiercely.

"Then, by the power inversed by me by the Wolf Spirit, I name you, Isabella Swan, in your own tongue, Vampire Slayer." The Chief's voice rang out. A warrior standing in the nearby shadows stepped forwards. He held a crossbow out the Chief. The Chief took it and pressed it into my hands. "You will be trained to use this weapon to combat the Cold Ones protect the people of Fork, Washington." Once he said this, he placed his hands on my shoulders and brushed his lips against my forehead, the way a parent would to their child.

I stood in silence, holding the crossbow in my hands, marveling at its weight and what had just occurred. I was a Vampire Slayer.


End file.
